pink is manly
Not only were all his clothes dirty, but half of them were in disrepair, to the point where he was going to wash them and rip them up for rags (Susan was particularly pleased at this; she claimed she was tempted to use some of his older shirts whether he liked it or not). So not only did he have a bag of clothes to wash, but he was commanded to find more clothes that weren't a "complete mess", at least.
He'd loaded the washer with little difficulty, and figured out detergent and which temperature to wash things at. The machine buzzed to life and whirred behind him, filling with water; it was a pleasant, productive hum, really. But now he faced his new adversary: the clothes box. He dug through it, finding a couple pairs of trousers and some jeans with little difficulty (though at times it did seem to have some odd suggestions). However, finding shirts presented more of a problem. The clothes box had absolutely no problem delivering him armful over armful of ruffles, electric pink or purple, and sequins. After a half hour of digging, he found one shirt that he would tolerate, but only just.
The washing machine gave a jolt, and he turned quickly-- thankfully, it had just started the wash cycle and wasn't about to explode as he'd expected, but that still didn't help much with the clothes box. He turned back to the offending box and shook his head with a sigh. "Oh, come on."
[Peter Pevensie, attempting laundry. Mock him, help him, whatever you'd like. ST/LT welcome, new tags welcome through Monday.]
He'd loaded the washer with little difficulty, and figured out detergent and which temperature to wash things at. The machine buzzed to life and whirred behind him, filling with water; it was a pleasant, productive hum, really. But now he faced his new adversary: the clothes box. He dug through it, finding a couple pairs of trousers and some jeans with little difficulty (though at times it did seem to have some odd suggestions). However, finding shirts presented more of a problem. The clothes box had absolutely no problem delivering him armful over armful of ruffles, electric pink or purple, and sequins. After a half hour of digging, he found one shirt that he would tolerate, but only just.
The washing machine gave a jolt, and he turned quickly-- thankfully, it had just started the wash cycle and wasn't about to explode as he'd expected, but that still didn't help much with the clothes box. He turned back to the offending box and shook his head with a sigh. "Oh, come on."
[Peter Pevensie, attempting laundry. Mock him, help him, whatever you'd like. ST/LT welcome, new tags welcome through Monday.]